


Communing with Spirits

by thegoodmarble



Category: The Good Fight (TV)
Genre: Adult Sleepover, Drunk Sex, F/M, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 09:21:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14638848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoodmarble/pseuds/thegoodmarble
Summary: Vodka always made her want it hard and dirty with an incendiary twist—finished off with an incinerating climax that matched the heat that always came with the spirit as it rushed through her veins.





	Communing with Spirits

Kurt McVeigh found himself nursing a glass of bourbon and eyeing the specially decorated offices of Reddick, Boseman and Lockhart for the holidays. He was dressed in a white button down and camel hair sport coat with jeans and his usual cowboy boots, walking along the hallways and weaving through guests and employees. He had just come from the bar for a drink, trying to locate his wife who was off making her usual rounds. Spotting the self-appointed Party-Planner-in-Chief, Kurt smirked lightly as he watched Marissa Gold who wore a silver dress and some jingle bells around her neck, dragging along a laughing Maia Rindell who wore a pair of reindeer antlers on her head and a bright red dress. 

The young investigator was making sure that everyone was happy, more than glad to be the one in charge of the cheer and joy that was often expected this time of year. Kurt had spotted her shoving drinks in people’s hands, uncaring whether they asked for it or not, urging everyone to loosen up and partake in the festivities.

Scattered all over the floor were employees and guests alike, enjoying the revelry and obviously enjoying the efforts of their resident sleuth. Somewhere down the hall, Kurt heard the sound of his wife’s laughter, recognizing the familiar musical sound. She stood near the elegantly decorated Christmas tree near the main floor, carrying on an animated conversation with Adrian Boseman and Liz Reddick-Lawrence. He raised his eyebrows, noticing the glow about her and the ease in which she held herself. She was relaxed and thoroughly enjoying the festivities.

Seeing her holding a glass of punch in one hand, Kurt couldn’t help but be curious by her drink of choice. They had opted to take a car service to the party so they wouldn’t have to worry about driving home after imbibing. He had seen her drink some Eggnog and had been sure she would sneak off for some bourbon like he had so he was surprised to find her with the non-alcoholic punch that had been laid out.

Diane laughed again and this time, he found himself furrowing his brow. She was laughing rather loudly, which he found somewhat odd. As skilled as she was in social situations, Diane was typically demure and reserved unless she was comfortable with the company. Kurt supposed she’d formed some form of a bond with Adrian but he knew from what she had confided in him, she was still watching her footing around Liz. Not that she had a problem with the younger Reddick, but rather she was still very new to the firm and Diane wasn’t that comfortable with her entirely yet.

He couldn’t explain it but Kurt felt a sneaking suspicion something was going on. He stood at the end of the hallway, just into the main room of the party. He eyed the table where the food and the punch had been laid out, noticing Lucca helping herself to some sugar cookies. He strode across the floor, careful to dodge the merry party goers and caught Lucca just as she managed to get her hands on some punch.

“Lucca,” he said by way of greeting, startling her enough to pull her glass away from her lips.

The younger woman gave him a friendly smile, “Hello, Kurt. Good to have you here.”

He looked at the glass in her hand, thinking for a moment which caught her attention. She glanced at her drink, frowning slightly. “Would you like a drink?” she asked slowly, a perfectly arched eyebrow directed at him.

“How’s the punch?” he asked, curious.

“Oh,” Lucca stopped, pursing her lips for a moment. “I haven’t had any yet.”

He eyed the glass, “It’s non-alcoholic, right?”

“Yes,” she nodded, looking at him with curiosity. “I just had a baby...so I’m staying off alcohol for a while. Just in time for the holidays too.” 

Kurt eyed the reddish-orange concoction, his head tilted to the side. He glanced back at the Christmas tree and found his wife was no longer near it. A quick scan of the party had her in another corner of the room, accepting another glass from Adrian from what looked like the same glass of punch Lucca had just gotten for herself. Her cheeks were red and her eyes were bright, laughing as she shared a toast with her partner.

He looked at Lucca, “I think the punch is spiked.”

“What?” she asked, surprised. “No, it can’t be. This isn’t supposed to be—” she stopped when Kurt suddenly took the drink from her, taking a sip and gave her a small nod. He took another drink then made a face and nodded even more. Her big round eyes widened, “It’s spiked?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, giving her a nod. “Probably should stay off the stuff.” 

“But Marissa said—” Lucca stopped, catching sight of the giggling brunette, “Of course. Excuse me, Kurt. I’m going to have to kill that girl now.”

The new mother walked away, leaving her glass with Kurt and chased after Maia and Marissa who were laughing along as they ran around the party. He didn’t bother finishing the glass, handing it off to a passing waiter with a frown, keeping his eyes on his wife.

Diane caught sight of him, stopping mid-conversation when she saw him watching her. She excused herself with a bright smile before sauntering towards him, giving him a sultry sort of warning look. She moved through the crowd easily, her eyes never leaving his as she moved catlike through the room. Kurt raised an eyebrow and for a moment, he wondered if perhaps the punch was spiked with—

“Hello there,” she greeted in a soft, low voice. She downed the rest of her drink, placing the glass on the table next to him. She shrugged off her metallic gold brocaded tailored jacket, revealing the matching sleeveless dress underneath. She handed it to him absently, frowning as she looked around. “Why is it so hot all of a sudden?”

—vodka.

Kurt’s eyes widened, deciding that was the only explanation for this.

Alcohol could easily explain the louder than usual laughter coming from his wife. Wine could explain the lowering of certain inhibitions. Bourbon could easily make her feel lighter and loosen her tongue. Tequilla could factor in the rising volume in her conversations. But he was absolutely sure it could only be vodka that would explain why she was slipping the gold and black jacket that matched her dress and why she was suddenly shoeless. Where the hell were her shoes?

Looking around, Kurt grabbed the jacket from his wife and carefully took her hand in his. He didn’t plan on finding out what else she would be shedding off next in this state.

“How much punch have you had?” he asked in a low voice, looking right into her eyes.

“Three glasses?” she said breezily, smiling happily at him. “Try it, Kurt. It’s wonderful. Marissa did wonders with that punch. It is absolutely divine!” She declared this with a giggle. “I liked it better than the eggnog. I think she put...maybe ginger ale in it?” Then she shook her head, “Oh, but good lord. It is hot in here.”

Kurt moved his face closer to his wife’s, “It’s got vodka in it, Diane.”

She stared at him for a moment before suddenly bursting out in laughter, tilting her head back. She almost fell against the table of food and nearly succeeded in taking out the glass she had left there. A few people looked over, their attention caught by the laughter from one of their name partners. Trying to avoid attracting further attention, Kurt subtly grabbed his wife around the waist, slipping her arm through his to steady her, trying not to be too amused by her in this state.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she huffed, waving her free hand absently. “I think I’d know if I were drinking vodka...” she rolled her eyes at him, pushing her hair back from her face. “Kurt, it is hot in here.”

“Yeah, we need to get you out of here,” he muttered, ignoring the way she was smiling fetchingly at him. “Ladies room, come on.” He started moving her out of the party, “Let’s splash some water on your face. That’ll help.”

She leaned against him, her lips brushing against his ear as they walked. “Why are we whispering, hmm?” She brushed a hand clumsily against his cheek, “You are a darling man.”

“Do you remember that night in Paris?” he asked, “In our hotel room...the balcony?”

Diane frowned then her eyes widened. She looked behind them at the room they had just exited. She looked at the party goers and eyed the drinks they were downing. Then she turned to her husband, a pensive look on her face, “You know what...I think you’re right. I might be drunk.”

Kurt kept her walking, trying to ignore the slight slur in her words. It wasn’t too noticeable yet but with three glasses of vodka running through her system plus the eggnog before that, he wasn’t ready to risk leaving her out in public.

He saw a couple of women enter the ladies room just before they could reach it which made him suddenly divert their course. Instead, he took her to the men’s room, checking beforehand to see if there was anyone in there before taking her inside. It was quiet and empty, much more secluded. He didn’t like the idea of leaving his wife in this state in there, knowing full well women and their penchant for gathering information and gossip. It wouldn’t do well to have one of the name partners giving them fodder for the mill the next morning.

Kurt was making sure the door was shut when he turned and suddenly found himself facing his wife. Her eyes were wide and alert, a slightly mischievous smile on her face, her hair loose and tangled by her own errant fingers. He smirked lightly, shaking his head at her and swore to himself he would be the mature one in this situation. This was his wife and the BMW in the courthouse garage all over again—only this was made more dangerous with the added mix of vodka, of all things.

He gently put his hands around her waist, shaking his head in amusement when her eyes suddenly lit up, obviously misunderstanding his intent. He walked her backwards until she stopped at the sink.

“Sit,” he said and suddenly lifted her up, causing her to let out a shriek and plopped her butt down on the counter.

Her dress had ridden up her thighs and she raised her eyebrows suggestively then wet her lips with her tongue. She leaned back a little, arching her back and looked at him surreptitiously through her lashes. She reached up her side and began to lower the zip of her dress.

“It’s even hotter in here, Kurt,” she all but whined, pulling at her skirt to move it higher. She pouted her lips, reaching forward to grab him by the lapels of his sport coat, tugging him to stand between her parted knees. She leaned forward, her hair falling from behind her ears and brushing his cheek, “Kurt, if there was vodka in that punch, I can get naked really fast.”

He shook his head, gently prying her fingers off his jacket and pushed her back lightly.

“I remember,” he smirked, pushing her hair back from her face. “The balcony in our room in Paris,” he snorted, remembering all too well what that potent Russian vodka had done to her that night. It was exciting, to say the least, as she had all but started to strip from the elevator as they made their way back to their room after dinner. He’d been so sure they were going to be ejected from the hotel that very evening. There was something about the drink that turned his wife into a stripper after consuming it too much, too quickly.

Diane giggled and pulled her leg up, making him catch her nylon clad foot in one hand. She left her leg high enough that afforded him a view straight up her dress. She pushed the expensive material of her skirt up, revealing her floral lace black thigh high stockings.

She reached out, her fingers running along his lapels. She tilted her head to the side, “We had a wonderful time in Paris, didn’t we?”

Kurt shook his head, pulling away from her touch and dislodged her foot from his hold. He reached for the sink and turned the water on, running his fingers underneath to check if it was cold. He looked at her, trying to appear serious, “You’re in the office, Diane. You’re drunk.”

“That’s never stopped us before,” she retorted with a purr. She moved her hands to the edge of the counter she was perched on, gripping with her hands. “This...is pretty sturdy.”

“Yeah,” he shrugged, “Won’t have to worry about you falling over.”

She burst into laughter, her eyes alight with mirth then she parted her lips tantalizingly, her tongue slipping through to wet them. She tilted her head back, running her hand through her hair with her eyes closed. Then she opened her eyes, blinking languidly at him, absently combing her fingers through her hair. Clumsily, one of her nails caught in her earring and suddenly dislodged it. She let out a squeak as she fumbled only for it to fall onto the counter and bounce off it, sending it straight to the floor.

“Oh, no,” she gasped, covering her mouth with one hand.

“Ah, damn it, Diane,” Kurt muttered, swiping the piece of jewelry from the ground and slipping it into his pocket, “You’ll be upset in the morning if you lose one of these.”

She fiddled with the lone earring left on her other ear, “Of course. They’re from you.”

“I know,” he mumbled then nodded towards the running faucet, “Try to sober up. Splash some water on your face.”

She looked indignant all of a sudden, “I’m not splashing water on my face.” Then she looked sad, “Oh, Kurt. I dropped my earring.”

“I have it,” he said, sighing. He was trying to be good, he really was. He was making sure she would not end up embarrassing herself or cause a scene in her inebriated state. He was even trying very hard not to respond to her clumsy attempt at seduction. It was difficult, to say the least, when she was so openly enticing him into doing something so definitely wrong at the moment.

Suddenly, Diane seemed to realize her dress had ridden up higher, exposing her thigh high stockings for all the world to see and found herself quite fascinated. She ran the tip of her finger along the floral pattern, enjoying the feel of lace against her skin. She bit her bottom lip, her head tilted to the side and then out of the blue in one fell swoop she slipped the nylon off one long slender leg and threw it at her husband. She let out a loud sigh, relief flooding her and started in on the other leg.

“No, no, no,” Kurt groaned, keeping himself between her legs to stop her from going further. She shrieked, grabbing on to his shoulders in surprise. He grabbed her bare leg, fumbling with the limb for a moment and tried to put the stocking back on. “Diane, keep you damned clothes on, for god’s sake.”

She leaned forward, her lips next to his ear, “Kurt, stop it.” She curled her fingers into his jacket, “It’s so hot. Let me take them off!”

But her husband was determined to get her to keep her clothes on. He held on to her leg, trying to wrestle it into stillness to try and get the nylon back on her foot. He pulled at her leg without thinking, moving her off the counter lightly which caused her to let out a shriek that devolved into laughter. 

“Kurt, stop it,” she laughed, wriggling her toes to stop him from slipping the offending piece of fabric on her foot. She wrapped her other leg around his waist, trapping him against her.

He grit his teeth, and moved his hand up her leg, pressing his warm hand on her inner thigh to distract her. She threw her head back, biting her bottom lip and curled her heel into his back. He ran a nail against her skin, eliciting a moan and he heard her begin to breathe a little heavily, her body suddenly going still and limp. He smirked and triumphantly shoved the nylon over her foot but before he could begin pulling it up her leg, the door to the men’s room suddenly opened. It distracted him enough to lose his hold on the errant blonde and his wife escaped his clutches. He cursed and caught her just in time, keeping her in place.

Kurt turned his head towards the door, his glare murderous only to find himself looking right at an understandably stunned Adrian Boseman, his mouth hanging open at the sight they made. Kurt swore under his breath, knowing exactly what the tall dark man was seeing: his partner intoxicated, in a state of semi-undress with her dress unzipped at the side and her skirt so obviously pushed indecently high up her thighs and her legs around her husband’s waist in the men’s room.

It wasn’t what it looked like—in fact, Kurt was trying to avoid having it not look like what it looked like now—but he was sure Adrian would never believe it.

Kurt looked at the head of his wife’s law firm for one tense moment in a silent standoff, both men unsure who was supposed to speak first. Without saying anything, he moved his body in front of his wife’s in an effort to shield her from view though he was sure he was too late doing so as by then Adrian had to have had quite an eyeful as it were. 

“Uh,” the taller man started, trying very hard to keep his eyes on Kurt and away from his wife. “Didn’t mean to, uh, interrupt.”

Diane looked up at Adrian, biting her bottom lip. She lowered her legs from her husband’s waist and crossed the nylon covered leg over the other demurely. In her inebriated state, she was slowly beginning to realize just what was going on and how this might look to her colleague.

“She tripped,” Kurt said smoothly, “I was just checking to see if she broke her, uh, ankle.”

That was the best explanation he could come up with in his stunned state which would have to be enough. Kurt didn’t imagine his wife would appreciate it if he told her fellow name partner wine made her feel sexy but vodka made her take her clothes off. This alone would be enough to mortify her, what more if he added to it like that? Oh, but he wasn’t so cruel.

“Uh, of course,” Adrian nodded and finally allowed himself to look at his partner, “Are you alright, Diane? Should I call an ambulance?”

“No, it’s alright,” she said, moving her head give Adrian an almost angelic smile from behind her husband. “Kurt was just being...thorough.”

“Thorough,” Adrian nodded slowly, “So...Marissa spiked the punch with what looks like a lot of vodka...guess a lot of tonight s’gonna be chalked up to the, uh, punch.” He stopped then his eyes widened slightly when he realized what he said then shook his head, closing his eyes tightly in mortification. “You folks have a good night...see you Monday, Diane.”

“Bye Adrian,” Diane said, suppressing a laugh when the door slammed close behind the man in his haste to escape. She bit her lip, putting a hand over her mouth and looked at her husband, “Kurt...I think I might be drunk.”

“You think,” he echoed hollowly, still wondering what exactly just happened. 

She hopped off the counter, feet bare and her dress ruffled and unzipped at the side. Her jacket was a crumpled mess on the end of the counter and she had one earring left with the water was still running on the sink. She moved only to stumble against her husband and she began to wonder how she’d gotten so sloshed on what was supposed to be an innocent serving of punch.

Diane blinked up at her husband, giving him a lascivious smile, “Let’s go home and have a very adult sleepover, Mr. McVeigh.”

“Probably not while you’re drunk, honey,” he said though his heart wasn’t really in it.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and began to nip at it on the side, soothing her gentle bites with warm kisses. She smiled at him and let her tongue slip over her bottom lip in one slow swipe, “Okay. We still have that town car. It’s roomy.”

“You are so drunk,” he said, placing his hands on her hips and groaned when she pressed against him, smiling lasciviously when she felt how much she was affecting him. “We shouldn’t.”

“Maybe,” she kissed him, slipping her tongue into his mouth and hooked her fingers through his belt loops to keep him pressed against her. “But we will.”

****

**o0o**

She did not utilize her seatbelt in the broad backseat of the car and she leaned on the seat at an angle, her head cradled in her palm as she looked at him. She smiled, noticing the obvious distance he was trying to put between them before shaking her head lightly and turned towards the driver.

“Would you mind putting up the partition?” she requested silkily, reaching for her husband and placed a hand on his thigh, curling her fingers into his flesh. The driver complied without a word and let the partition rise, granting them the privacy she was seeking.

Once she was sure they were alone, she leaned over and brushed her lips over his slowly. She placed her hand on his neck, opening her mouth against his, her tongue sweeping along his bottom lip lazily.

Kurt tried not to let himself get swept up but with his wife practically pouncing on him, her hand dangerously high on his lap and her fingers around his neck, he wasn’t so sure about his chances of fending her off. She still tasted like the sweet tangy punch, her lips hot and her tongue wet against his. He resisted for only the briefest of moment before giving in and deepened the kiss. He pushed back against her, overpowering her easily and pressed her against the back of the seat. Her hand slipped from his neck and his lap and she let her fingers latch on to his lapel, pulling him into her with a quiet moan.

He slipped his arm around her shoulders and tugged her towards him, pressing her warm pliable body against his. He ran his hand over the textured fabric of her dress, letting his fingers take hold of the expensive material and drew it up slowly over her thighs, moving it easily against her skin. His palm slid up one side of her thigh, his hand gliding against nylon and pressed one hand into her shoulder to pull her even closer to him. He moved his lips from her mouth to her throat, nudging his nose against her jaw.

“That driver isn’t stupid,” he rumbled against her skin in a low voice, his hand moving easily onto the inside of her thigh. “He’s gonna know what we’re up to.”

Her breath hitched in her throat, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. Her throat moved under his roaming lips as she swallowed, moving her hand down his chest and let her fingers linger over the buttons of his shirt.

“Vodka,” Diane reminded him with a whisper, her hand pressing against his cheek to align their lips. “Touch me.”

His hand moved under her dress, slipping between her legs easily until he reached her panties. She was wet and warm and he made a sound of approval somewhere deep in his throat. The drawn out assault she had performed on him was mind-numbing and as much as he wanted to be the responsible one, there in the confines of the sleek black town car, he found he’d reached his threshold of maturity. Here was his wife, wanton, amorous and ardently in pursuit of his touch. He was only human, a red blooded-American man with a wife who had a body made for sin.

He took his time between her legs, his fingers exploring the panties as he imagined what they looked like. Black, no doubt, and nothing more than a thin scrap of lace in a sheer floral pattern—a match to the thigh highs she had specifically chosen for this occasion. He breathed in, pushing his hand against her and drew the scrap of fabric aside, seeking more.

She gasped, her fingers clutching at his side, breaking away from the kiss with wide eyes. He felt her teeth against the side of his neck and he smirked, tightening his hold around her shoulders. She clutched at his collar, resting her nose against his cheek, breathing heavily. They were locked in a tangled embrace and he used that moment to curve his finger and drew it over her lightly, eliciting a whimper from her.

The vodka swirled in her head, mixing with the heady haze of lust and desire.

She liked nothing more than her husband’s hands when she was this intoxicated and mused that the utterly fantastic thing about sleeping with this particular man was his unparalleled ability to touch her just right without any hesitation or doubt. She was fairly sure somehow, somewhere there had been a woman who had been patient enough to take out an anatomical chart and showed him just exactly where a woman’s clitoris was located. Not that she would complain because this man was so deliciously good at bringing her pleasure, so gloriously skilled, she didn’t give a damn where he learned all his skills as long as she was the only one benefiting from all that knowledge now and until the very end. He had always been so familiar with her, so mind-blowingly good at giving her pleasure, even at the very beginning, and she knew it would have driven her to madness and drown her in pleasure if it weren’t so damned delicious.

He was so good with his hands and he was the best she’d ever been with.

She smiled when he wedged his knee in between hers, pushing them apart almost obscenely. He pressed his thumb against her hard and slipped two fingers inside. She bit her lip, trying to contain a scream that was threatening to burst, her eyes sliding shut. Vodka always made her want it hard and dirty with an incendiary twist—finished off with an incinerating climax that matched the heat that always came with the spirit as it rushed through her veins.

His teeth grazed her jaw, teasing her for a moment as his fingers moved inside of her then removed them rapidly. She cried out and he pulled her head into his chest, laughing quietly. His lips brushed the top of her head and she dug her nails into his neck, breathing harshly against him. Her hand yanked at his belt blindly, tilting her head back with her lips pouting for a kiss.

He gave in, pushing his fingers inside her again, this time in a come hither motion, making her swear against his skin. The tension curled behind her navel and body tensed, growing hot as she felt him press at a particularly spectacular spot only he had ever been able to find. Her abdomen clenched and she panted against his lips.

“Kurt,” she moaned hoarsely, “Oh, god...Kurt. I’m...oh, god.”

“Shh,” he rumbled, continuing his ministrations with relentless pursuit. She swallowed and gripped at the nape of his neck, pulling hard and then moving her hand into her own hair.

He thrust his fingers deeply a few times, his thumb hitting perfectly against her with each jerk of his wrist. She whimpered, lowering her head desperately into his shoulder, biting into his coat. Then suddenly, he started to slow down, knowing it would frustrate her after being brought so close to the edge that way. Her hips twisted into his hand, arching slightly in a silent plea. He teased her a little then just as suddenly pushed his fingers inside her. She gasped, her eyes widening and her stomach tightening once more. 

“You’re so wet,” he growled, “Jesus, Diane...you are so fucking wet.”

She moaned quietly, her lips moving against his neck, kissing him passionately and without thinking, marked him, her teeth digging into his skin. She murmured incoherently, begging him for release. Her body was tightening, her heart was thundering in her ears and her lips were shaking. He pushed his fingers until he was knuckle deep and she shuddered, a cry catching in her throat and dying against her tightly closed lips. Then her mouth fell open with a gasp, her jaw clenching.

He turned his wrist, thrusting his thumb against her and his fingers moved rapidly into her and she breathed out harshly, her chest heaving, her shoulders shuddering.

“I’m coming,” she gasped against his skin, “Oh...god. Yes, Kurt...yes.”

He reached up, letting her fall back against the seat and her back arched, keeping her hips in the angle she needed and his hand clamped down over her mouth. He trapped her moans and cries against his palm while he moved his fingers with each clench of her muscles, pushing against the resistance of her body, fucking her with his fingers to the pinnacle of her climax. He felt rather than heard her mumble his name against his hand and he pulled back, wrapping his fingers in her hair and kissed her, searching the lush corners of her mouth for the taste of the intoxicating spirit that was invading her system.

The car jolted to a sudden stop and he pulled his hand back abruptly, eliciting a cry of startled discomfort from his wife. He apologized with a soothing stroke of his hand over her hair as he pulled her dress back down over her thighs right before the driver opened the door and ushered them out.

Diane stumbled slightly as she got out and he caught her arm, her mess of blonde hair sweeping around her neck and brushing about her shoulder. He steadied her with a hand on her lower back and gave the driver an expressionless look. He gruffly thanked the man, surreptitiously slipping a generous tip into his hand and told him he’d see to his wife himself. She pushed her hair out of her face with a sated look, her lashes fluttering as she tried to manage a casual smile at the younger man and mumbled a haste thank you before teetering away in her high heels.

Kurt led her up the steps to their home in the city and they were barely through the door when he shut it with a bang, locking it behind him and pushed her against it. His eyes burned with hunger as he took in her tousled hair and the flushed heated look in her blue eyes. He didn’t bother to fumble for the light before he was pulling her dress up over her thighs once more.

She removed his belt with surprising dexterity for someone who was intoxicated with vodka and potent lust, moving to start sinking to her knees. He caught her, catching her by the elbow and pulled at her, walking her backwards until she hit the long table in the hallway of their home. He spun her away from him and bent her down, hiking the rest of her dress up and bunching it into a pool of fabric around her hips. He slid her wet panties down to the floor then unzipped his pants then swiftly thrust himself inside of her with a satisfied groan.

Diane rested her forehead against the cool polished wood of the table, running her hand through her hair tightly and tangling the golden strands around her fingers. Sensitive and sanguine, she let him slam into her, relishing how she no longer needed to stifle her cries of pleasure and she could scream as loud as she wanted to. She felt so desired and amorous, so languid and coquettish, feeling the burning passion inside her all at once. She was so caught up in enjoying his display of dominance and potent lust so much, she couldn’t help but let out a surprised gasp when he suddenly pulled out and turned her around to face him.

She lunged at him, kissing him as if her life depended on it and allowed him to lift her up on the table. He pushed her knees apart, hands clutching at her thighs insistently. He pulled her legs around him and buried himself back inside her once more. His lips never left hers the whole time he moved, breathing through her and taking her into a long drawn out kiss that made her light headed and robbed her of breath until he broke it with a groan. He pushed his forehead against her, mumbling her name like a prayer, gripping at her thighs and taking himself in and out of her, so lost in his haze of lust and greed. He closed his eyes, his body stiffening for a moment before he stilled, rumbling her name in the back of his throat as he shuddered against her with a powerful release that left him throbbing inside of her.

Her body ached for him and he leaned against her, breathing harshly. She ran her hands over his neck and shoulders, massaging his flesh in a soothing sensual touch. He moved his hands up her thighs, wrapping his arms around her, hugging her against his chest.

She wasn’t the only one who felt a little sexier and a little naughtier when alcohol swam in their system. He knew how wine made her feel sexy, how bourbon made her feel lighter and how vodka made her want to strip. He didn’t have specific quirks like she did, but he knew when the spirits were in his blood and she was warm and pressed against him, there was no chance of him resisting her. She was his weakness, his eternal want and he would never tire of having his skin pressed against hers.

With a smile, she snuggled against him, blithely unperturbed by the eccentricity of her position with her perched on their antique long table and his head resting on her chest. Her mind was swimming and his arms wrapped snugly around her spent slender form, both of them waiting for their heartbeats to return to a more sedate pace. If she let him recover and managed to take him up to their bedroom, the fantasies that were still running wild in her head were bound to be addressed that very same night.

“We still have that bottle of pinot noir,” she murmured huskily with a smile.

He nodded, squeezing his arms around her gently.

“Bring it to bed,” he rumbled and pulled her in for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Credit to a very good friend on tumblr who encouraged me bring this passing fancy to life.


End file.
